


Ghostie

by DarsieCasady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarsieCasady/pseuds/DarsieCasady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was being haunted by a rather mischievous ghost. This ghost looked very familiar but he couldn't be who I thought he was, could he?<br/>Stories aren't always what they seem and death doesn't always mean an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened, I thought I was going crazy. I was making my coffee first thing in the morning and when I looked up from the cup, I thought I saw a ghost. But when I blinked and looked again, it was gone. I just chalked it up to the fact that I hadn’t woken up yet, that doesn’t really happen until about 9:00 anyway.  
Then it happened again a week later. This time it was while I was driving home from work – but it had been a stressful day, my mind was just playing tricks on me. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. And that worked until I saw the ghost again. I was walking down the hall to my bedroom when I saw him standing, or floating rather, at the end of the hall. His shimmering, silvery, opaque eyes met mine then they crinkled into a smile before he winked at me and disappeared through the wall.  
“Hey!” I cried, thinking maybe he would come back, but he didn’t. Something about his smile though… it seemed familiar. “I just saw a ghost in the hallway, outside my room, he looked like someone I know, and I’m now trying to communicate with him,” I said flatly to myself. It was as if this was an everyday occurrence, it most definitely was not. I continued talking to myself, “I better go get some salt, just in case.” I padded back down the hall to the kitchen where I grabbed the big carton of salt out of the cabinet. On my way back to my bedroom, I noticed that I left the book I had been reading on the counter. I thanked the ghost, silently this time, for appearing and making go into the kitchen before I got into bed because I would’ve had to come back in here anyway.  
I climbed back into my bed and tried to start reading my book, but I just couldn’t. That silvery smile just kept creeping into my mind. How did I know him? I couldn’t figure it out and since I wasn’t getting anywhere with that book, I decided to go ahead and try to get some sleep. Checking to make sure the carton of salt was within my reach should the ghost come back, I switched off my light and rolled over. I thought I saw a silvery glow coming from the corner as I started dozing off, but I couldn’t be sure.  
The next morning, I woke with a start. I had been having the strangest dream – something about a cute ghost at the end of my hallway. The carton of salt sitting on my dresser across the room catches my eye and it all starts coming back. It wasn’t a dream! There was a cute ghost at the end of my hall!  
“Wait. Why do I keep calling him cute? He’s a ghost, he’s not even real and if he’s not even real how did he move my carton of salt?” I wondered to myself. Thanking God for the internet I stumbled out of bed and found my way to my computer, I turned it on then went to make coffee. Something was different about the coffee machine, but I couldn’t figure out just what it was so I shrugged and trudged back over to my computer. I opened Google and typed in ‘ghosts’ because that isn’t going to link me to a plethora of random shit, I rolled my eyes – About 93,100,00 results (in 0.51 seconds) – perfect. “Oh, well,” I sighed, “what the hell else do I have to do today?”  
A cup of coffee, half of a jar of peanut butter, a cup of tea, and four hours later I had read everything I cared to read about ghosts. I found no site that claimed the same things, or that at least explained my ghost’s ability to move things. Great. Now I’m calling him my ghost. Suddenly, the temperature dropped. Not significantly, but enough for me to go check the thermostat, but everything seemed to be in order. Taking my chances, I called out, “Ghostie? Ghostie, is that you?” Of course I got no response. Fed up with trying to figure my ghost problem out, I went back to my computer to shut it down and actually try to be productive today.  
That’s when I figured out for sure that I was either having a psychotic break, or there was definitely a ghost in my house. A Word document had been opened on my computer, it read:  
You’re on the right track. You’re a smart one, like my sister-in-law.  
But my name’s not Ghostie.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dude, I’m telling you, there’s an attractive ghost hanging out in my house,” I told my friend, Salem, when I called her later that night.  
“Do you know he his?” I could hear the gears turning in her brain as she asked me.  
“No, not really. I mean, he looks familiar but I can’t figure out how I know him.”  
“And you’ve looked everywhere for an explanation?”  
The way she worded the question made me realize something, I hadn’t checked everywhere – I had a few resources left to check out. “Actually… now that you mention it, I can check a few other places… I’m gonna do that now, I’ll let you know if I find anything new.” After hanging up the phone, I realized it was probably going to be a long night and tea wasn’t going to cut it – so I decided to make another cup of coffee. Excited about the possibility of finding more out about my ghostie, whose name is not Ghostie, I all but ran into the kitchen. I slid to a stop where the coffee maker was – or rather, where it usually was. “That’s what the hell was different this morning!” I literally yelled this to myself while standing in the kitchen wearing my favorite socks, an oversized shirt with the Marauder’s Map printed on it, and no pants. After glancing around the kitchen suspiciously, I mumbled, “This is when it’s a good thing I don’t have roommates.”  
I angrily started making my coffee, the nerve of this ghost – moving my coffee maker around! He’s lucky I wasn’t completely awake this morning and I didn’t realize it then. As abruptly as I had gotten mad, I was laughing. My coffee maker had been moved to a completely different place in the kitchen and it had taken me nearly twelve hours to notice! “Good one, ghostie, whose name isn’t ghostie,” I called out, sure he was listening somewhere, “that’s pretty funny. Did you know it would take me this long to figure it out?”  
I actually wanted to know what the ghost thought of my ability to find things so obviously out of place in my own home, but I didn’t expect an answer. “Well actually, no, I didn’t. I thought you were pretty observant – I mean you noticed the salt after all.” The voice came from behind me, but there was no one there. No silvery, shimmering, transparent ghost, no actual person, nothing. Did I really hear that? Or was it just my imagination? “But you are quite distractible.” I felt the temperature drop slightly, my ghostie was there. I was looking around but I still didn’t see him. I decided that instead of giving him the satisfaction of me freaking the fuck out and trying to find him, I would just finish making my coffee.  
“You’re right,” I said matter-of-factly, “I am quite distractible, that’s why I need to get back to investigating you before I forget the idea I just had.” I didn’t want to tell him what my brilliant idea was, because I didn’t want him to mock me for it.  
“I’m easily distracted myself,” the ghost appeared directly in front of me. He was a whole foot taller than me, and he could have easily used his height advantage to be menacing – but he didn’t. He simply grinned at me mischievously, and added, “Like right now, I have other things to do but here I am, talking to you.”  
I just stared at him, he looked so familiar. Why, why does he look so familiar? How do I know him? I reached out to touch his face, as if it would trigger a memory the way certain smells do, but my hand didn’t gently stroke his cheek – it went through his face and my fingers felt icy. I pulled my hand back slightly so that my fingers were hovering just beside his face. He was as shocked as I was that I didn’t jerk away in fright; but his eyes were so warm, there was no way I could ever be afraid. Our eyes locked onto each other like a pair of magnets. I don’t know how long we stood like that in my kitchen, it felt like two seconds and two years all at the same time.  
“So easily distracted…” he finally whispered, more to himself than to me. Then he grinned widely and winked at me once more.   
Before I knew what happened, he disappeared from in front of me. It was as though he had never been there in the first place. I stood, stuck in place, numb from what had just happened for a full minute. Still awestruck, I grabbed my coffee cup and walked – floated, more like – over to my computer on the couch. I sent a quick text to Salem prior to opening Google again.  
I just tried to touch his face. He stood in front of me. He talked to me. And I tried to touch his face. I say tried because my fingers WENT THROUGH HIS FACE  
She responded immediately:  
What did he say? What did the inside of his face feel like? Why are you trying to touch ghost’s faces?  
I couldn’t help but giggle as I read what she said, then I typed:  
He was talking to me about how easily distracted I am and then he told me he got distracted easily too. Also, he sounds like he’s from England somewhere. It was mesmerizing. But anyway, he looked so familiar (and he was just so pretty) that I wanted to touch his face to see if it would help me figure out who he was but it didn’t. It felt like sticking my hand into twenty-four degree spider webs.  
I decided that after ‘legitimate sources’ left me empty handed I would check the wiki pages about ghosts from various places in pop culture. I mean, there are loads of books, movies, and television shows that talk about ghosts – what could it hurt?


	3. Chapter 3

I fell asleep on the couch with my laptop in my lap, the kitchen light on, BBC America blaring on the television, and with no blanket. Why did I do this? Because I plan poorly, that’s why. Oh, no, I don’t need to go to bed yet. I’m not even tired. Clearly, I was wrong. I didn’t realize this, however, until I woke up at 6:37 the next morning lying on the couch, my laptop moved to the end table, the kitchen light off, the television volume significantly lower than I remembered, and wrapped warmly in my favorite fleece blanket. I tapped the touch pad on my computer to see what I had been doing before falling asleep – it didn’t open up to the ten Google Chrome tabs I last had open, instead it opened to another Word document that this time read:  
You really need to start taking care of yourself. I hope you slept well.  
~He-Whose-Name-Is-Not Ghostie

I smiled faintly and felt the heat rising from the back of my neck to my cheeks. “Thanks, Ghostie,” I whispered then I drug myself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and some peanut butter toast.  
It was Sunday, so I needed to laundry so I could have clean, professional clothes to wear to work (because apparently wearing sweatpants and oversized t-shirts is frowned upon in the teaching profession). As I sorted my clothes, I thought back to my ghostie, it was so sweet of him to take care of me the way he did – a little creepy, but mostly sweet. That doesn’t seem like vengeful spirit behavior, at least not the way Supernatural portrays a vengeful spirit. “Weird,” I mumbled to myself. Something still felt off about this whole thing, I still had another place to check online before pulling a Hermione and going to the library. I had exhausted all of my pop culture resources except one, Pottermore. I spent a whole month of my life exploring the stories on that website and I thoroughly enjoyed all of the extra readings that J.K. Rowling so graciously provided us with. The Pottermore Sorting Hat quiz is the only quiz that has ever meant a damn thing to me, by way of which House I was in (Gryffindor, thank you very much). I got to the log in page and typed in what I thought was my information, but I was informed that I was incorrect. I tried a different email address. Success!   
But where was all of the items that used to be in my trunk? Or all the House points I had earned? And why did it show no progress through the stories? Then I remembered, this was the account I created when I made my dad get sorted – also a Gryffindor, I was so proud. It appeared that I had forgotten any log in information I had ever had for that website and I would have to start over.  
I went to my vault in Gringott’s and withdrew some money, made my way to Diagon Alley and bought a tawny owl, I even let my wand choose me (English Oak, 10 ¾ inches, phoenix feather core, slightly springy). Finally, I was starting the Sorting Ceremony. J.K. Rowling herself started to tell me all about the ceremony and the Houses and I started to panic. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing became ragged – what if I wasn’t in Gryffindor anymore? I had so much Gryffindor pride, it was almost ridiculous. What would I do with my House sweater, my multiple t-shirts, my patch, my lanyard, my favorite sweatshirt? I couldn’t start the quiz yet – I had to figure life out first. “What if I’m not a Gryffindor anymore?!?!!” I cried to no one. And because no one answered me I sent a text to Salem:  
WHAT IF I’M NOT A GRYFFINDOR ANYMORE???  
After realizing she would have no clue what I’m talking about I sent another:  
I’VE HAD TO START OVER ON POTTERMORE AND I’M ABOUT TO BE SORTED. WHAT IF I DON’T GET SORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR AGAIN??  
She knew just what to say to me to make me feel better:  
It’s okay. It’s totally okay. Your heart is totally Gryffindor material. I believe in you.  
With that vote of confidence from Salem, I took a deep breath and started the test. I really want to know the psychology behind these answer choices. A few short minutes later, my computer was cheering as my virtual housemates were welcoming me into Gryffindor once again! “YES!” I cheered, “I knew it, Gryffindor bitches.” The temperature in the room dropped slightly, but I didn’t notice I was too busy being excited that I was still in Gryffindor. To think, I doubted myself. In order to celebrate, I decided to watch a Harry Potter movie. When I watch the DVD’s I always watch them in order and the last one I watched was Deathly Hallows Part 1. So I pranced over to my shelf and grabbed Deathly Hallows Part 2 and just as I was about to pop it in the DVD player, the washing machine buzzed loudly.  
“Oh. Right. Adulting.” I muttered aloud. I’ll celebrate later, I thought, tonight I’ll make shepherd’s pie and watch Harry Potter. I finished the laundry, cleaned the house, wrote my lesson plans for the next week, I even went to the grocery store and bought everything I thought I’d need for the next two weeks (including an extra thing of salt – just in case ghostie did turn vengeful) my mom would be so proud. By the time I put the shepherd’s pie in the oven, the sky was burning with the reds and purples of sunset. While it cooked, I busied myself with Pottermore a large cup of tea.  
Thank God I set a timer to remind me about the food in the oven, otherwise I would have been so enthralled with Pottermore that I would have forgotten about it and likely burned the house down. After scarfing down a heaping plateful, and scalding my mouth, I finally put in the movie. “Care to join me, He-Whose-Name-Is-Not-Ghostie?” I whispered, not expecting an answer. The temperature dropped suddenly and an English voice answered, “Nah. I’ve seen it.” I looked around everywhere but did not see him anywhere, I shrugged and pressed play. At the sight of Dobby’s grave, my eyes well up with tears. “Dobby is a free elf,” I choked out in barely a whisper. The temperature drops lower than it had yet and I shivered, but I’m too caught up in Gringotts to notice.   
There is a shimmer of something silver and my favorite socks land in my lap, “Keep warm,” my ghostie warned me invisibly.   
“Thanks,” I said as I slid them on. They were yellow and red with Harry’s glasses and scar printed all over them. But something was wrong. There was hole in them, the perfect place and perfect size, for my big toe to stick out. “What the hell?”  
A chuckle came from behind me. I whirled around and found myself face to face with my ghost. He was trying quite hard to hold in his laughter, but he was failing miserably. “You did this?” I demanded, sticking my foot up in the air. He howled with laughter, I’m sure I looked quite funny being cross with my foot sticking up in the air, but his laughter only made me more cross. “These. Were. My favorite. Socks” I said slowly, trying not to get too angry at the ghost – they were just socks after all. But they were my favorite socks!   
“I’m sorry,” he said, his laughter subsiding, “I was just trying to play a bit of a joke to lighten the mood. I noticed you were upset.” The look in his nearly transparent eyes made me believe he was being sincere.  
I shook my head, “It’s alright, they’re just socks. I overreacted a bit. And if you think I’m upset now, just wait until the Battle of Hogwarts is over.”  
A sad look crossed his face, “Yeah, the Battle of Hogwarts is the worst.”  
“You’re sure you don’t want to stay and watch it with me?” I asked again.  
“Well, I suppose I could watch it for a bit,” he sounded unusually nervous. I guessed it was because of how angry I had gotten about my socks. But I was wrong.  
About the time the golden trio was sneaking into the room of requirement, my ghost friend disappeared without warning. I didn’t understand why, I thought maybe someone from the other side was calling him. Or maybe the Battle of Hogwarts really fucks him up something terrible. As that thought crossed my mind, I saw a familiar face on the television. It looked just like my ghostie, but it couldn’t be because James Phelps is not my ghost – James Phelps is not even dead. It had to be a coincidence, they just happened to look similar, that’s all. But was that really true? That question kept creeping to the front of my mind while I continued watching the movie. It was shoved back to the back after Snape’s death and tears started welling in my eyes once more. But when Harry made his way into the Great Hall after the first battle ended, that is when I lost control. Fred is lying there on the floor, no life left in him and my body is shaking with sobs, tears burning angry streaks down my face. One of the brightest lights in the series has burned out. “No,” I cry, “not Fred. Why did you have to take Fred? Not Fred.” Like that will change anything, the books are finished, I doubt J.K. Rowling will be writing another in which Fred didn’t die. I was crying so hard about Fred, I couldn’t even pay attention to The Price’s Tale, his lifeless face kept popping up behind my eyelids. My breath was still ragged and my lashes still wet as Harry used the resurrection stone in the forest. A single tear slid down my cheek at Lily’s last comment. Hagrid started yelling at Harry and more tears started coming, but it was nothing like the tears that I shed for Fred. Neville killed Nagini and I was able to manage a, “Fuck yeah, Neville!” before I caught a glimpse of George Weasley in the background; causing my weeping over Fred to begin again.  
That thought comes creeping back up to the front of my mind again. What if my ghost wasn’t James, what if he was Fred? Now you’ve really gone crazy. But I couldn’t help it, through my tears I whispered, “Ghostie? Are you Fred?”


	4. Chapter 4

The temperature dropped drastically around me – so much so that I was shivering. My ghostie appeared, shimmering in front of me. “I knew you’d figure it out,” he whispered. This did nothing to dull my pain. In fact, it made the gaping hole in my chest feel immensely larger, and I continued to cry. He smiled sadly at me, “Don’t cry, love. It’s alright.”  
“It’s not alright! You were only 20! I’m older now than you ever lived to be!”  
He nodded, thinking about what I had just said. Obviously it wasn’t alright for him either, he had just been trying to make me feel better. He had been dead 17 years, he had made peace with that – as much as he could anyway.  
“How… How is any of this real? How are you here?” I asked, desperately trying to blink away my tears.  
Fred handed me a tissue before he began, “The stories, Harry Potter’s stories, aren’t just books. They actually happened. They exist in a different world, not necessarily a different universe entirely, you can find magic in this world – you just have to know where to look.” He paused to let me process this information. But I already had hundreds of questions swimming around in my head.  
“But I thought ghosts were only people who were scared to go on. You didn’t strike me as someone who was afraid of death.”  
“I wasn’t. Not really. I just – I couldn’t leave George. We’d never been apart in our lives and I wasn’t going to let death take me away from him either.”  
“Is George in America now too then?” I asked.  
“No, he’s not, I just couldn’t keep hanging around him. I was making him sadder, he couldn’t move on, he had Angelina and Fred and Roxanne to look after; I was just a cloud, hanging about in the way. I decided to hop on a plane. I didn’t know it where it was going, I didn’t care, I was just trying to put as much distance between George and I that I could. I ended up in Charlotte, I floated around that area for a few days; but I could feel this, this pull coming from somewhere. It was like a magnet. I was connected to something – something was yearning for me, and it felt like some kind of magic.”  
“What was it?”  
“You,” he stated matter-of-factly.  
I didn’t know what to say to that, I just stared blankly at him for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I uttered, “Me? You were drawn… to me? And I felt like some kind of magic?”  
“Yes. I couldn’t explain it at first, but after watching you for a couple of days, I understood.”  
“You understood what?” I felt idiotic, like there was something major right in front of my face, but I was looking straight through it.  
“You,” he said again, “why you felt like magic. You believe so strongly in Harry Potter’s story, you had no trouble believing I am who I am because you already considered the stories to be true. You might not actually have magical abilities, but your imagination and your heart are truly magical. I was drawn to you because of how real the stories are to you.”  
“I always knew the stories were real,” I said and it was true, I had always felt like they were true on some level, in some universe somewhere.  
“They’re real for us,” Fred smirked.  
“You think you’re being all suave, do you? Severus Snape used that line already. It’s not going to work for you.” I had to fight the urge to stick out my tongue and by the sound of his chuckle, Fred knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

It was so much to try to take in. Harry Potter was real, everything that happened in the books was true, Hermione was real, Neville was real, Luna was real, and the Weasley’s were real. And Fred was really dead. And his ghost was really in my house, right in front of my face, essentially telling me I was magic. What the actual fuck was going on? I still had hundreds of questions for him but my brain was having trouble processing anything, let alone how to get words to move from my brain to my mouth. He was looking at me expectantly, he knew I still had questions, I mean honestly, who wouldn’t? Finally the gears in my brain seemed to be able to function again and I blurted out, “Ohmygod, so you actually threw snowballs at Voldemort’s face?” Because that is the most important issue right now.  
He seemed to be struggling to figure out what I was talking about, his translucent brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side.  
“You know, you and George bewitched snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing them off of his turban. Voldemort’s face was on the back of Quirrell’s head, so you were basically throwing snowballs right at Voldemort’s face!”  
Fred stared at me blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “We did do that,” he cried, “I had completely forgotten! Maybe that’s why the bastard had no nose, we knocked it off with our bewitched snowballs.”  
I laughed until my cheeks ached and my breath was short. The mood of the room was much lighter than it had been just moments ago when I realized I was literally being haunted by Fred Weasley. It was amazing to think that my favorite stories were as true as I always believed them to be and that my strong belief in the stories had lead Fred to find me. Which led me to my next question, “Fred, you say you felt drawn to me because of… my belief in the stories, and you realized that after you watched me for a few days. I guess, really, what I’m trying to ask is… why – why have you stuck around me? I mean, I’m sure I’m not the only one to believe in the stories, or to be upset about your death, or….” not sure where I was going with the rest of the question, I just trailed off and sat looking at my hands. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him after that question. It seemed almost too intimate for me to have asked.  
“Well,” he began after a minute, “I hung around for a few days because I was curious to figure out what exactly our connection was. As I was trying to figure it out, obviously, I just had to play a few pranks on you. That was quite fun actually, you’re reactions were very entertaining,” he glanced cheekily at me to check my reaction. I rolled my eyes and stuck both of my middle fingers up at him. He winked at me then continued, “I did notice that you seemed somewhat lonely, though completely functional, and you didn’t really take care of yourself, I thought you could use a morbid sort of friend – I thought I could too. You seemed to be missing a piece like I was, and I thought we could help each other out.”  
“Aren’t you sweet? Psychoanalyzing me while hiding with your invisible ghost powers. I’m perfectly happy being alone, but I’m also perfectly happy having a morbid kind of friend. That sounds like its right up my alley.” I wasn’t really sure how to respond to such a deep description of my character from my ghostie friend, so of course I defaulted to sarcasm.  
“You know, I also liked watching you sort yourself that was quite cute. And you trying to be nonchalant after figuring out that I moved your coffee maker – that was adorable,” he smirks at me.  
I blushed but I refused to let him think he’d just pulled something over on me, “Oh yeah, I remember you found that to be, how did you put it, ‘very distracting’.” It was my turn to smirk. I could tell that if he were not silvery and transparent, he would be blushing. I winked at him and he rolled his eyes. “Two can play this game ghostie,” I took my time saying the last word, almost savoring it.  
“Good. It was getting so lonely playing the game by myself,” he teased.   
We sat there staring at each other, neither of us wanting to be the one to back down because both of us were so damn stubborn. He tilted his head and gave me a crooked grin and I couldn’t help it, I let out a giggle. It sounded like a little girl on a playground – it was so embarrassing, he won that round. Dammit why did he have to be so damn cute? Looking at me like that, he reminded me of a puppy. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” you could still hear the giggle in my voice.  
“Like what?” the crooked grin swelling on his face.  
“Like you’re in love with me,” I quipped. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. I hadn’t meant to say that, it had just slipped out before I knew what it was. He may not have been looking at me exactly like he was in love with me, but there was definitely something there. Holy shit. I realized I had been flirting with a ghost. What was I doing with my life? Obviously something right if Fred Weasley’s ghost was the one with whom the flirting was taking place. He was trying hard to figure out something to say to come back to that, but I saved him the trouble, “I’m only joking, don’t have an aneurism.”  
“That’s one of the positives about being dead, I can’t have an aneurism,” he said deadpan.  
“I see your sense of humor didn’t die with your body, that’s also a positive.”  
After that exchange we both lost it, our bodies shook with laughter until tears of a different kind rolled down my face. Whilst wiping my eyes, I noticed the time – I would have to be getting ready for work in five hours. Before I could mention the time, Fred said, “You’re mad. I love it.” Then he seemed to notice what time it was as well, “Blimey, it’s late! You ought to go to bed, I’ve told you you need to take care of yourself. You’re not going to get any sleep tonight.” I wanted to argue with him but a yawn interrupted me. Besides, he was having none of my protests, he gave me a look Professor McGonagall would have been proud of and I knew any protests I made would be in vain.   
With my shoulders slumped, I shuffled off to my bedroom. I climbed into my bed and pulled my blankets up to my neck. Another great yawn escaped me. “I don’t know if you eat or anything,” I said sleepily, “but there’s definitely some leftover food in the fridge if you want it.”  
Fred grinned, “Alright, thanks. Night poppet.”   
“Goodnight Ghostie.”


	6. Chapter 6

I had had the strangest dream, the ghost of Fred Weasley was in my house, because he was drawn to me because I’m magic. It was a sad dream, but it was a wonderful one. A wonderfully sad dream…  
“Mornin’,” there was a very familiar voice waking me up. It was a voice from my dream, only it couldn’t be because I was actually waking up. “If you don’t get up soon, I do believe you will be late for work.”  
My eyes shot open. It wasn’t a dream, it was real, Fred Weasley’s ghost was in my house and right now he was waking me up because I was going to be late for work. I scrambled out of bed, “Thanks Ghostie, you’re the best,” I said hurriedly on my way to shower.  
“I know I am,” he grinned, “but after this one, I think you’re going to have to owe me.”  
Thirty minutes later, I was making my coffee while simultaneously trying to decide what I would have for lunch. I’m terrible with making decisions, even when it’s a small one like what to have for lunch. It was Monday, I needed something that would cheer me up, and so I grabbed a cup of Star Wars macaroni and cheese. The temperature dropped slightly and I heard a light chuckle.  
“What? I’m an adult, I promise,” I said to Fred, blushing slightly.  
“Of course you are. I didn’t say anything anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but his smirk told me that he knew exactly what I was talking about. I just rolled my eyes and put my macaroni cup in my lunchbox. Fred cleared his throat dramatically.  
“Yes?”  
“What about breakfast?”  
“I overslept, remember? I don’t have time to eat breakfast. Don’t worry though, I put a granola bar in my lunchbox too,” I said sarcastically. I’m always oversleeping, when I was in school I had no problem getting out of bed, but that I’m teaching it – it’s a whole different story. I finished my coffee, gathered my things, and bid Fred goodbye before heading to school.   
“So what’s the latest on Ghostie?” my friend Salem, who happened to teach right next door to my classroom, asked me quietly.  
“Dude! Okay, let me tell you,” I began, “Ghostie is Fred Weasley.” Salem’s brow furrowed, and it remained that way until I finished my entire story of the night before.  
She paused a moment, letting the story sink in before saying, “So you’re not just a Muggle? That’s awesome. And Hogwarts is real? Equally awesome. I am a potato and you are the bee’s knees, this is great.” Just then the bell rang and we decided we shouldn’t talk anymore about ghosts and Hogwarts being real, lest the others think we were crazy.   
The day drug on, as it always did. I had a lovely classroom, but I didn’t get to use it much; we did inclusion at the school I taught at, so I spent most of my day going in and out of various classes helping the students who needed it. But mostly I was just there, that is, until the end of the day. I had a pullout period where I worked on reading comprehension with my students. When they came to me, they had no interest in reading, they would complain if I asked them to read something out loud for me. It was all very frustrating until, I began to read Harry Potter with them. They loved the voices I used for the characters and begged me to read the second book with them before we were even half-way through the first one. I saw an improvement in their attitudes towards reading, as well as in their comprehension. The books were magic, and as I had learned the night before, they were actual magic.  
If only I could read Harry Potter all day.  
At last, the children were dismissed and I waited until 2:40, the time teachers were allowed to leave, and I booked it. I was ready to be home.  
I walked into the house and was greeted by the most amazing smell. My entire house smelled of leather, paper, oak, and musk. It was amazing. It was like I had stepped into a library filled with volumes upon volumes upon volumes of old books. It was the way I imagined the Hogwarts library smelled. I tried to find the source of the smell, I had assumed it was a candle, but I could find nothing anywhere. “Fred?” I called. I knew he must be behind it, but there was no answer. What does a ghost do all day? I wondered to myself. He must have been off somewhere creating mischief. I shrugged and made my way to my office, I knew if I didn’t do the work I had right then, it wasn’t going to get done. I graded math tests and reading worksheets, I wrote my lesson plans for the week – I know one day had already happened, it’s not a big deal, I even read the chapter of Chamber of Secrets we would be reading in class tomorrow. I still hadn’t heard from Ghostie.  
There was a chill in the house, but it was November, it was starting to get cold period. I made a fire in the stove, then reheated my shepherd’s pie from the night before. I watched some TV for a while, and finally I trudged off to go to bed. As I was brushing my teeth, I thought I saw something silvery in the mirror, but it had just been my imagination. I put on my softest Gryffindor t-shirt, which was three sizes too big – perfect for sleeping in, and went to add a couple more logs to the fire so it would last through the night.   
I climbed into my bed minutes later, wrapped in the smell of books and fire and my quilt and I grabbed my book off of my night stand. I read until my lids were iron curtains trying to force the outside world from eyes, then, I clicked off my lamp and pulled my quilt up around me. My eyes shut for the night and I missed the faintest grey outline of my ghost standing in the corner of my room.


	7. Chapter 7

That week drug on. I kept waiting for Fred to show back up and explain the amazing smell of books that permeated my house, but he never did. I thought I could feel him in the house, hanging about, but he didn’t make himself visible, however he does that, so I couldn’t be sure. I was a little miffed that he was giving me the cold shoulder, did I not react the way he wanted when he told me the truth about everything? I thought everything went rather well, I mean, I could’ve gone Winchester on him, but I didn’t. How fucked up is it that I want desperately to be friends with a ghost? I thought about it and decided that it really wasn’t that fucked up. The highlight of my day was reading to my fifth graders. The stories had all new, meaning to me now that I knew they were real. When we met the Weasley’s in chapter six, I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I had felt like they were my family and now I knew they were real, all the hardships they faced were real, the love they had for each other was real, their compassion was real. I felt like I was seeing the entire world in a new way – as if I’d been walking around under the Imperius Curse for most of my life and it had just been lifted.  
It’s funny how much your perception can change the way you think. That’s what I thinking about when I got home Friday. My house still smelled of books and it was quite cold but there was still no sign of my Ghostie. On my way to my office I built a fire in the stove. Then I put my work on my desk where it would remain for the duration of the weekend. I padded down the hall and traded my dress pants for sweat pants and shed my sweater so all I was left with was a black tank top. I sauntered to the kitchen, put a pot of tea on and stuck my head around the corner to turn on the TV. When the water was boiling, I poured it over the teabag in my favorite mug – which also happened to be the largest. With my tea in hand I flopped onto the couch, grabbed a blanket and started streaming Doctor Who on Netflix. Three episodes into my binge, I decided I should eat something so I microwaved a frozen burrito. When I, pressed play a voice came from my right, “This show is quite brilliant. I do like this Doctor character.”  
“Fred! What the shit, man, where have you been?”  
“I’ve been here,” he looks at me, trying to decipher my mood.  
“Here? Then why have you been hiding? I thought we were going to be besties. I thought we could literally Netflix and chill.”  
“Netflix and chill?”  
“Never mind, it was a bad joke,” I grin at him, my cheeks flushing. “But really, where have you been?”  
“I’ve been here. Just like I said, you just haven’t been able to see me.” He seemed to think that was an acceptable explanation for a moment, until he saw the look on my face. I don’t know if I looked more confused or offended but he added, “I wasn’t hiding from you, I was trying to get close to you. Close enough, so that you’d know I was here.”  
I nod my head, I had felt him. “But why couldn’t I see you? Also, why does my house smell like this?”  
A concerned look crosses his translucent face, “You don’t like it?”  
“The smell? I love the smell, it’s everything I want to be. It smells like what dreams are made of.”  
“Good,” he sighs. “I did a bit of magic to make your house smell like the Hogwarts library. And I reckon it used too much energy or something because I just couldn’t make myself visible. I tried though.” Fred’s ghost shrugs slightly and smiles at me sheepishly.  
“Really? You can do magic? This is what the Hogwarts library smells like? This is amazing!” A stupid grin was plastered to my face.  
He smiled smugly back at me, “I’m glad you like it.”  
“That’s putting it lightly.” I felt the urge to hug him, but I knew that wouldn’t work; that time I tried to touch his face, my hand went through it. There was a pang in my chest when I thought about it, but I tried not to let it reach my face; I didn’t want him to think something was wrong after he’d done all this work for me.   
We sat there flicking our eyes from the Doctor to each other, trying to be discrete about it. Both of us were failing miserably. I glanced at him and caught him eyeing me, to cover it up he said, “So what’s up with these people and their zippy foreheads?”  
“They’re the Slitheen,” I told him. I proceeded to explain how they were an alien race as was the Doctor. He said the show sounded interesting and I told him it was. We sat there into the morning traveling with the Doctor and Rose through all of time and space, protecting humanity. After fighting sleep off for as long as I could, I finally decided that I must surrender. “I’m sorry Fred, but I am so tired,” I said stretching.  
“That’s alright, love. Traveling with the Doctor isn’t for everyone,” he winked. Always with the winking.  
“Excuse me, but you wouldn’t even know who he was if it weren’t for me. And besides, I think the Doctor prefers female companions,” I chuckled.  
“Fair point. Now, if you don’t mind, the Doctor and I have some planets to save.”  
“Safe travels to you two,” I yawned and shuffled off to bed.  
I had been in my bed for all of one minute when the temperature lowered around me. A silvery being was lying beside me. “Hey,” he whispered.  
“Hey Ghostie,” I smiled sleepily at him.  
“The traveling wasn’t as much fun without you,” he explained, “d’ya mind if I stay in here?”  
“Course not,” I mumbled, rolling closer to him.  
He wrapped another blanket around me and brushed my short hair from my eyes before letting his hand fall to my arm. A small grin danced onto my face. I drifted off to sleep before I heard him murmur, “Good night, poppet.”


	8. Chapter 8

I woke to the feeling that my arm had frozen solid in the night. I risked a glance at it, but saw nothing wrong, so I flexed my fingers – perhaps my arm had just fallen asleep. As I began to stir, something burned an icy trail down my arm, pausing momentarily on my hand before disappearing. “Morning, sunshine,” came voice beside me.  
“Morning,” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. As I started to remember what planet I was on, I realized that my ghost friend, Fred, had spent the entire night in my bed. Lying right next me. Actually holding me. A sudden wave of warmth passed over me and my cheeks flushed candy pink.  
“Did you sleep well?” Fred asked me, grinning.  
“Yes I did actually,” I stretched. “What about you, do you sleep?”  
“I don’t. They say sleep is for the dead, but I don’t need it.” He was still grinning at me.  
His smile was mischievous and contagious, I could feel my own spreading across my face. “I really, really do not want to get out of bed today.”  
“So don’t. We can stay here and watch the Doctor travel through all of time and space.”  
“You know, I think that is a very good idea,” again I felt the urge to hug him, but I knew I couldn’t. “But first, I am going to actually have to get out of bed.”  
“Why?” he puzzled.  
“Well, first, I have to pee and second, tea,” with that I flung the blankets back and ambled my way out of my room.   
When I returned, I burrowed back under my covers, curled up with my Ghostie, and we binged on Doctor Who for hours. We talked about traveling through space and saving people and our opinions on the companions. It had been a long week so I may have dozed off a few times, but it was okay, Fred said he didn’t mind. I was so comfortable with him. It was like he filled a hole in my heart that I didn’t even know existed – despite the fact that he lowered the temperature around me, he made me feel warm, the kind of warm you feel in your soul. Absentmindedly, I reached for his hand, but my hand went through his. I was disappointed until I felt the stinging cold of his transparent fingers in mine. “Now, that’s not fair,” I pouted.  
“What isn’t?” he cocked his head to the side, looking at me like a puppy.  
“How come you can touch me but I can’t touch you?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have to concentrate on making myself tangible when I touch anything, and when you touch me I’m not expecting it, so I’m not concentrating on making it possible,” he offers.  
I consider what he said for a moment and get an idea, “Concentrate, then.”  
“What?”  
“Concentrate. I’m going to touch you.”  
“Alright,” he simpers, “go ahead.”  
Timidly, I reach for his face, lightly brushing his cheek with the tips of my fingers. He leaned into my palm and sighed heavily. My hand traveled to the back of his neck, my fingers teasing what used to be fiery ginger hair before finally pulling him into that hug I had been craving. My ghostie’s long, frigid arms wrapped around me and a chill danced its way down my spine. “I’ve been wanting to do this since yesterday,” I breathed into his ear.  
“I’ve been wanting to do this ever since the day with the coffee maker,” he confessed.  
Reluctantly I let go of him, “Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” I teased.  
“It was better,” he winked.

 

Needless to say, Ghostie and I grew closer after that intimate encounter while watching Doctor Who on a Saturday afternoon. I spent all of my free time with him, which was anytime I wasn’t at work or in my office. It was ironic, really, that the happiest I had ever been in my life, was when I was spending it with someone who was no longer living.  
“D’ya know you talk in your sleep?” Fred asked me one morning while I was making my tea.  
“Umm, no. I’m sleeping, how would I know what I’m doing?”  
He chuckled, “Well, that’s a fair point. But I didn’t know if someone else had ever told you.” It was a simple statement, but it seemed almost as though he were asking me if I’d ever slept with someone else the way I had been doing with him every night.  
So as nonchalantly as possible I said, “I’ve never slept with anyone else. No every night slumber parties with anyone but you, Ghostie. So, no, I’ve never had anyone else tell me that I talked in my sleep.”  
He leaned against the counter, “Ah, I see. It’s quite interesting, really. Sometimes I talk back to you to see if we can carry on a conversation, I doesn’t really work out though.”  
Oh shit. What had I been saying? Whatever it was, he seemed to be enjoying it, wearing that crooked little smug grin as he talked about it, I was going to have to ask what I said. “Alright, I’ll bite, what did I say?”  
“Usually it’s just a lot of my name, but last night was… different.”  
My heartbeat was accelerating, I had said something major. And I had a feeling I knew what it was. I looked at him, waiting.  
“Last night, you said, and I’m quoting you directly here, ‘Ghostie, I love you.’”  
“I see,” I said slowly, my hair prickling, “and did you… say anything back? You know, trying to start a conversation, like you said.”  
“I said ‘I love you too, poppet’,” he stared right at me as he said it. The fire he had lit inside of me roared, burning hotter and brighter than before.  
The entire house, no, the entire world, seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for me to respond to my ghostie. Finally I said, “It’s true you know, I might have been sleeping, but it’s still true.”  
“I know,” he assured me. “It’s true for me too, you know.”  
“I know.”


	9. Chapter 9

The more time I spent with my ghostie, the more I yearned to meet the rest of the Weasley’s. I’d read so much about them – how nurturing Molly was, how inquisitive Arthur was, how strong willed Ginny was, how gallant Ron was, how witty George was, how intelligent Percy was, how adventurous Charlie was, and how perceptive Bill was – I had already felt like they were part of my family. But now that I knew they were actual people, living and breathing in England somewhere, and I wanted desperately to meet them. Not just for my sake, but for Fred’s as well, he seemed much happier than when he first arrived at my house; but I could tell something was off. With a family as much a part of his life as his had been, and relationship like the one he had shared with George, he must have been missing his family. I knew the whole reason he was with me in the first place was because he left his family so as not to hurt them anymore, but a short trip, just to visit, wouldn’t hurt anything, right?  
“Fred,” I began, my head resting on his shoulder as we sat, entwined, on the couch.  
“Yes?” he placed his chin on the top of my head, making it feel like every strand of my hair was freezing; but I didn’t mind, I had gotten used to the cold he diffused.  
“I was thinking – well, wondering actually, when was the last time you talked with George?” I felt him tense at the mention of his twin’s name. I hoped I wasn’t overstepping my boundaries.  
“Well, it was two days before I hopped a plane to come here. He… he was telling me how much he missed me being around. He said, ‘I know you’re here but it’s like you’re really not, and I just hurts so much.’ And that’s when I knew, I couldn’t keep hanging around, hurting him that much.” I had imagined the pain of losing Fred would have been unbearable for George, but hearing Fred echo George’s words was like taking a bludger to the heart. “So, the next day I left a note explaining that I had to leave, that I couldn’t continue to be a dark cloud over their lives. I thought maybe if I left, it would be easier for George to remember the times when we were younger and happier. That he would stop seeing life through my grey haze.”   
His transparent arms wrapped tightly around me and a silent tear slid down my face; the pain in his voice resounded in my head, clattering against the walls of my skull. Perhaps paying the other Weasley’s a visit wasn’t the best idea. I didn’t want to burden him with that torment. But it was too late, for Fred continued, “Why do you ask? I know you, you’re planning something, aren’t you?”  
My voice was small, “I just wondered if maybe, maybe you wanted to pay them a visit? I mean, I would go with you, if – if you wanted. And if we get there and you change your mind, that’s okay, we could just… I don’t know, explore London?”  
He pulled away from me so he could look at me, studying my face, his eyes gleaming, “Really? You’d do that?”  
Relieved that he wasn’t angry with my suggestion, I allowed a small smile to grow across my face, “Of course, Ghostie. I wouldn’t let you do that alone.”  
We decided we’d go visit his family in two weeks (just after Christmas), so I spent the next couple of hours researching flights to London, I decided not to book a hotel just yet, thinking we might be able to stay with one of the Weasley’s. Maybe even at the Burrow. 

“Should we tell them that we’re coming? I mean, it’s probably no big deal if you come back, but if you come back with me – that might be quite a shock,” I asked the day before we were to leave. I wasn’t really sure how we were going to do that though, or if he even wanted me to come right off, or if he’d rather go creep around in ghost mode first. It was all very difficult to think about, this wasn’t your typical meet the parents situation.  
“Well it’s a little far to send an owl, and you can’t send a patronus, and Muggle mail will definitely take too long. I think a surprise would be best. It’s kind of our only option. Right now,” he added that last bit as an afterthought, I could tell he was devising a plan, but I was packing, so I didn’t stop to ask him what he meant, otherwise I might’ve forgotten something important – like my passport.  
Fred stayed out of my way as best he could, but I was in a tizzy – making sure everything was packed to TSA standards and that I had everything I needed; I checked for socks six times, I always forget socks. He was watching me, chuckling to himself, mumbling something about “cute.” Finally, after I was sure that everything was absolutely perfect, I climbed into my bed with my ghostie for the last time before I would be heading off to London. To the Weasley’s.


	10. Chapter 10

After getting through the TSA checkpoint at the airport, Ghostie and I found a seat near the gate in our terminal. We were really early, but I was always early for things like this - terrified of missing my flight. I couldn’t talk to Fred while we sat there, I would look mad – he was in invisible mode so as not to frighten people in the airport; so I sat, silently pretending to read. My mind was all over the place, running through different scenarios of meeting Molly and Arthur, George and Angelina, Ginny and Harry, Ron and Hermione, all of Fred’s family; in each scenario I made a fool of myself (as I often did in day dreams) I was worried that his family wouldn’t like me, or that they wouldn’t like the idea of me hanging around with the ghost of Fred. I was pretending to be enthralled with my book so Fred would not be concerned by the worry on my face.  
When the plane began boarding, Fred’s invisible hand found mine and he whispered, “I really don’t like flying in these. They’re quite scary.”  
To which I quietly responded, “What are you afraid of? You’re already dead.” I squeezed his hand reassuringly and felt that he was shaking with silent laughter. The flight was crowded but it wasn’t completely full, luckily I had an empty seat next to me. I reckoned Fred could sit there if he wanted. I sat through the boring this-is-how-you-buckle-your-seatbelt demonstration and by the time the plane had reached its cruising altitude, I was asleep – Fred’s frigid, invisible fingers entwined with mine.  
About eight hours later, as we were beginning our decent into London, Fred told me that he had to take care of something and that he’d be right back. Before I could ask what he was talking about, I felt him disappear – the temperature raised so that I no longer needed a blanket and my hand was tingling as though the blood in it was unthawing. I was nervous that he was bailing because he thought the idea of seeing his family again was too painful, but as we were disembarking he returned; he put his hand on the small of my back so I’d know he was there. I knew before then though, I could feel him.   
On our way to pick up my bag from the claim, he told me that he’d left to send an owl to The Burrow, to inform them of our plans to come visit. So I had been wrong, my fears were unfounded, he was going to visit his family, and he intended to bring me. Now I had all new fears, how do you explain to someone that you’ve fallen in love with their dead son? Maybe I should just let Ghostie do the talking.  
I gathered my bag and Fred and I continued on our voyage to The Burrow. A train, a cab, and a short walk later we were there, standing at the edge of the yard looking at The Burrow standing tall and crooked in the moonlight, windows glowing orange, bright, and warm. Fred made himself visible beside me, we stood together silently taking in the imperfect beauty of his childhood home. I peeled my eyes away from the dwelling to check on my ghostie, he was looking at me, grinning. “What is it?” I asked. A grin isn’t exactly what I had expected to see on his face.  
“It’s not much, but it’s home.”  
I grinned back at him, “I think it’s brilliant.”  
We laughed together for a moment, until suddenly, we heard the slam of a screen door, closing off our laughter. Molly Weasley stood on the front porch apparently peering into the yard, searching for us. My heart started pounding as though I’d been running for my life, I swallowed hard and glanced from the shadow of Molly Weasley on the porch to my ghostie. He winked at me playfully and began to glide toward the entrance of the house, I fell in step behind him. Despite the cold temperature outside, I suddenly felt very warm. Relax. It’s Molly, she’s not going to hurt you.  
“Oh, Fred dear,” Molly said warmly, “It’s so good to see you again.” Then she turned her attention to me, “And you dear, it’s so nice to meet you. Come in, come in, you must be freezing.”  
I forgot how to use my voice so I just smiled and nodded and followed her into the kitchen. The kitchen was just as I’d imagined it, a long wooden table sat in the center of the room, a pot of something simmered quietly on the stove, and a fire crackled happily in the fireplace. It was the homey-est place I had ever been in my life. Once inside the house I saw that her ginger hair had begun to grey and there were defined lines around her eyes. “Welcome to The Burrow, dear,” she smiled at me.  
I managed to gain control of my voice, finally, and said “Thank you Mrs. Weasley.” I looked around and added breathlessly, “You have a lovely home.”  
“Thank you,” she said genuinely then turned to Fred and added, “Why don’t you show her upstairs to your room, where she’ll be staying, and when you come back down we’ll eat. You must be starving.”  
Seeing as how I’d only had some snacks to eat on the airplane, she was right; I was. I followed Ghostie up the creaky stairs to the second floor and heard Molly call “Arthur, they’re here! They’ll be down for supper in a moment!” Fred gave me a crooked smile as he pushed open the door to his room. The bed was made up with a purple quilt and orange pillows, the lamp on the bedside table glowed welcomingly, and on the desk was a picture of Fred and George smiling mischievously out front of their joke shop while fireworks exploded in the background. I put my suitcase next to the desk and draped my coat and scarf on the back of the desk chair before facing Fred.  
“It really is wonderful,” I said softly.  
“Everything you dreamt it would be?”  
“Better, actually.”  
He grinned and pulled me in to him, hugging me tightly, and pressed his icy lips to my forehead, “Thank you, for suggesting this, I’m really glad we’ve come. Now, I know you’re hungry, not only can I hear your stomach growling, I can feel it too. It’s quite terrifying. Let’s get downstairs so you can eat.”  
When we returned to the kitchen, Molly and Arthur were seated at the table along with three bowls of something steaming, it smelled delicious. Arthur stood to greet me, “Hello, it’s lovely to meet you, dear. And Fred, it’s good to see you back.” He was smiling, as was Mrs. Weasley, so I couldn’t help but smile too.  
“It’s lovely to meet you as well, Mr. Weasley,” I said joining them at the table. Fred sat beside me.  
“I do hope you like beef stew,” Mrs. Weasley sounded slightly worried. I nodded my head assuring her that I did indeed like beef stew. “Good,” she sounded relieved, “tuck in.”  
Mrs. Weasley’s cooking was divine, that was literally the best beef stew I had ever had. I told her so and she thanked me, her cheeks flushing to match the color of her hair. The four of us, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and I, sat around the table for hours talking. I told Mr. Weasley all about our journey to get to his house and explained that apparation would have been a much easier form of transportation. He was fascinated by the amount of security I had to go through at the airport. It seemed to me that the pair were curious as to how Fred and I met and came to know each other so well, but neither of them asked and we didn’t tell them. They told me stories of some of the things Fred and George got into as children and I was sure if Fred could blush, he would have been. Around midnight, Mr. Weasley announced with a yawn, “I’m sorry, but I am so tired. I am going to have to get some sleep before everyone comes over tomorrow.”  
“Don’t apologize,” I said, “I’m quite sleepy myself, it was a long journey after all.”  
I bid good night to the couple and even got a hug from Mrs. Weasley before I made my way back up to Fred’s room for the night. I couldn’t help but think the room smelled of gunpowder as I drifted off to sleep with Fred’s transparent arms wrapped around me.


	11. Chapter 11

I woke the next morning, not to the smell of gunpowder, but to the smell of bacon frying. I looked up at my ghostie and grinned, “Moooorning.” He smiled back at me as I reluctantly slid myself out of his grasp and started digging through my bag for something to wear.  
“What’re you doing?” he wondered.  
“I’m trying to hurry up and get ready; I don’t want your parents thinking I’m some lazy person, sleeping all day… Oh but it smells like your mom is cooking breakfast, I don’t want her to be waiting for me to eat, and here I am taking a shower –“  
Fred chuckled and shook his translucent head before sinking through the bed. I didn’t even get the chance to be peeved, because a second later he reappeared and told me that she would probably still be cooking for another fifteen minutes, then he directed me to the shower, and said “I’m going to go on down and tell her that you’ll be down soon, so she knows you’re awake.”   
Ten minutes later, after the fastest shower the world has ever seen, I made my way into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley saw me as she was setting a plate of eggs on the table, “Perfect timing dear, everything’s ready.” She had cooked eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, potatoes, and even beans – she made me a full English, and of course it was delicious. I ate so much, I didn’t think I’d ever need to eat again. After the three of us finished eating, I tried to help Mrs. Weasley clean up, but she insisted that it was no bother and with a wave of her wand, the kitchen began cleaning itself. Holy shit that’s nifty, wish I could do that at home.  
Mr. Weasley was showing me his collection of Muggle artifacts in the garage a bit later, when we heard a crack! followed by the sound of voices bubbling outside. “Everyone must have arrived,” he commented as he put the skeleton of an old flip phone back on his workbench, “please, allow me to introduce you.” I took a deep breath and followed Mr. Weasley out to the front yard. My ghostie caught my eye first, silvery and shimmering cautiously on the front porch, he saw me and smiled widely, I smiled back and he floated gently over to me. Then, the sheer size of the Weasley family hit me, in front of me stood: George and Angelina with their two children, Bill and Fleur with their three children, Ron with his two children, and Ginny with her three children – sixteen people and that was not everyone, it was quite intimidating. Seeing them all actually standing in front of me made me very emotional, I was fighting back tears hoping they wouldn’t notice. Ghostie put his translucent arm around my waist, I’m still not sure if it was for his benefit or mine.  
Before Mr. Weasley could introduce anyone, Ginny walked up and gave me a hug, “It’s so nice to meet you, thank you for bringing my brother back home; we’ve missed him.”  
“Um… Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too, Ginny,” I stuttered.   
Bill and Fleur were next, and Fleur really was mesmerizing, I had difficulty finding words; I was like the nerdy kid in a romcom. Then came Ron, he was all awkward, not knowing whether to hug me or shake my hand, but he explained Hermione and Harry’s absence, saying they were away on Ministry business but that they would be arriving tomorrow. Finally, George and Angelina made their way up to us.  
“Hey Georgie,” Fred said, his arm tightening around my waist.  
“Hey Freddie,” George said mixed emotions playing like a film across his face, “you alright?”  
“Yeah,” Ghostie said lightly.  
“Me too,” George allowed a smile to pause on his lips.  
Fred let go of me and embraced his twin securely.  
After a minute or two, the pair let go of one another and George turned to face me, “So you must be the girl he mentioned when he sent an owl yesterday, thank you, for bringing him back, he seems happier now than before. Stronger.”  
Without thinking I told him “It’s no problem your holeyness, he’s been quite a treat.”  
Fred and George wore twin grins as they looked at me. “The cheek of it!” George joked before looking back to Fred, “No wonder you love her.”


	12. Chapter 12

Inside the house, Fred and George kept shooting furtive glances at each other, trying to gauge one another’s feelings. Ginny spoke up, “Alright Fred, spill it. How did you meet her?”  
“Now, Ginny…” Mrs. Weasley began halfheartedly, she was curious too.  
“No she’s right, we’re all dying to know,” George added.  
“Well,” Fred started, “I took a plane to Charlotte and when I got there, I felt this magnetizing pull to something. So I followed it, and it turned out to be her. She’s read our stories, Harry’s story, and she has this deep connection with them, she believed in them. She’s a Muggle, but she’s magic too. It’s very peculiar. And she wasn’t even scared of a ghost in her house, she kept trying to talk to me – I couldn’t decide if she was barking or not. Finally, I decided she was and I told her everything.” He slid his arm comfortably around my shoulders, the iciness didn’t even phase me.  
“Please tell me you messed with her a little?” Ron asked hopefully. I shot him a look of mock offense and he smiled slightly and shrugged.  
“Did you move her things around so she couldn’t find them? That’s what I would do,” George noted.  
“Actually,” I stated, “that’s exactly what he did. He moved my coffee maker, tore a hole in my favorite socks, left mysterious notes on my computer, he was very mischievous.”  
“Did you know et was ‘im right away?” Fleur inquired.  
“No, not right away. I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure it out until…”  
“Until she watched the last movie,” Fred finished for me. Everyone’s faces were somber at the mention of the movie. They had lived through that fight, they had lost family in that fight, it really was real for them and it still hurt. “She was heart breaking to watch at the end, it was like someone had literally ripped her heart out.” I averted my eyes from everyone, the kitchen floor suddenly became very interesting; I didn’t want to see everyone look at me quizzically – awaiting an explanation. Fred continued, “She loved us, all of us. And she hated that we had to go through all of that suffering so that one day we might know peace. We were her family before she knew we were real. Her heart ached for us. She fought with us in that war, she knows our pain.”   
I wiped my eyes hastily, “I am so sorry for the oppression, persecution, and loss that you all faced. I am so, so sorry…”  
Soft sniffles filled the room. “Well, thanks for that,” said George. “Mum, I’m going to need something slightly stronger than tea if I have to put up with this pair telling stories. I mean, there’s no proper lighting, or props, or costumes; can’t you act out the next one?” he jested.  
“George is right,” Angelina chimed, “I could use a Firewhiskey.”  
“We should go to The Leaky Cauldron later on then,” added Ron.  
“Brilliant Ron, I knew there had to be some brains floating around in that head of yours,” George teased. “What do you think?” he said turning to me, “Do you want to come?”  
I looked around at everyone in the kitchen and then to Fred before answering George. “Yeah, I think that sounds great. I’d love to come.”  
“Excellent,” George said clapping his hands together.  
Bill and Fleur announced that they had to get back to Shell Cottage that night because they were expecting her family to visit. So the group of us decided to stay at The Burrow for a while longer to give everyone a chance to visit with them before we left. I sat at the table sipping my tea, trying to stay out of the way so Fred could talk to George, and everyone else, without having to worry about me. Angelina sat next to me, “You know, George was starting to miss him.”  
“Fred missed him too, it was eating him up. That’s why I suggested coming back to visit,” I glanced up from my tea, Angelina was smiling at me.  
“I’m really glad you did.”  
“What was it like? Before he left, I mean. Fred said he left because he was making George sad –but at least Fred was here…”  
Angelina nodded, understanding what I was thinking, “You see, he wasn’t the way he is now before he left. He, himself was sad. He couldn’t help at the joke shop, or with the kids; he was living as a ghost in the life he had hoped to have. He wanted a family, he wanted to work with George every day, and George wanted these things for his brother as well. But these were impossible things and they both knew that. It’s like Fred feeds off of the energy that he is surrounded by, so George being depressed about Fred never being able to have a family, only worsened his own depression. Fred’s presence was literally making things darker – our home was almost greyscale, that’s when Fred decided to leave.”  
“He hasn’t made anything darker since I’ve met him, not that I’ve noticed anyway,” I commented.  
“I think,” Angelina asserted, “that is because he loves you. Love is a strange and powerful thing. I know you love him too, and he feeds off of that energy, which keeps him positive and more like his actual self.”  
I blushed and glanced over at Fred who smiled widely at me and winked.  
“How are we going to get there?” I asked Ginny.  
“We’ll apparate to right outside the pub door,” she answered.  
Ron, Ginny, Angelina, George, and I stood together in the yard of The Burrow. Fred shimmered beside me, “Don’t let go of Ginny’s arm, alright?” he whispered in my ear.  
I nodded and asked, “Aren’t you coming with us?”  
“Some wizards don’t like ghosts very much, we make them uneasy. I’ll be there; but I’ll be invisible.”  
I nodded again and took a deep breath before grasping Ginny’s arm tightly. With a pop I was sucked into a vacuum, my stomach was doing somersaults, and I felt like I was suffocating; an instant later, I was standing outside of The Leaky Cauldron with the gang of Weasley’s. The suction stopped, I felt a bit woozy for a moment but I returned to normal almost immediately. “Brilliant,” Ghostie’s icy breath tickled my ear and I smiled. Inside, I followed Ginny and Angelina to a table in the back corner of the crowded tavern, while Ron and George made their way to the bar to get us drinks. I looked around, trying to take it all in but I was interrupted by George handing me a glass of something. The glass felt warm, but there were ice cubes in it. I looked at him quizzically. “Firewhiskey,” he explained. I took a sip and it warmed me from head to toe, I felt like I could breathe fire, and it was delicious.  
Ron cleared his throat to make a toast, “To Fred being home. And, to a new member of the family.” We all raised our glasses and took deep swallows of the warm liquid.  
“Do you like it?” Angelina asked.  
“I love it,” I answered and I heard my ghostie chuckle close by. After three glasses of the stuff, I was feeling quite toasted, as were George and Ron. Ginny and Angelina only had two glasses, saying someone had to apparate us back home.  
“You have to see the joke shop,” George exclaimed suddenly.  
“Yeah! You’ll love it,” agreed Ron.  
“Yes, yes I wanna see it,” I said.  
All of us made our way out the back entrance of the pub, Angelina tapped the brick wall with her wand and it opened to reveal Diagon Alley. I took a few steps in and froze, awestruck, the place was amazing; again I was fighting back the tears.  
“Are you coming or what?” Ron shouted and I hurried to catch up with the rest of them.   
I stood outside of the Weasley’s joke shop and looked at the towering figure of my ghostie before me, “This is amazing,” I murmured.  
“Thanks, love,” Fred replied and I turned toward the sound of his voice.  
“Wait here,” George said and he disappeared into the shop.  
I saw a flash of green and turned to see what kind of firework George had let off, but I heard someone yell “Stupefy!” and then there was nothing. I saw nothing. I felt nothing.  
“Well hello there,” said an old voice.  
I began to stir and I looked around. I was in Diagon Alley, but I was alone, all the Weasley’s had left me. Why would they do that? I turned toward the voice and nearly fell over with shock. I was facing a tall, slender man with a long white beard and half-moon spectacles. “D-Dumbledore?”  
“Yes, my dear, that is me,” he answered.  
Questions poured out of me, “What are you doing here? Where did the Weasley’s go? They were all right here and then,” then it hit me, “and then there was a green light. I – I’m dead, aren’t I?”  
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Apparently, someone did not take kindly to you, a Muggle, being on the wizarding street of Diagon Alley.”  
“I guess the war didn’t wipe out all of the radicals then.”  
“No. No it did not do that, unfortunately. While it did diminish the number of witches and wizards who believed in blood-supremacy, it did not change everyone’s beliefs.”  
“Some is better than none, sir. Do you mind if I ask another question?”  
“Another after that? Of course not, what is it?”  
“What do I do now?”  
“Ah. That my dear, is up to you. You can go on, wherever that might be, or you can stay here.”  
I knew exactly what to do. Dumbledore reminded me that whichever I chose, it would be forever and I told him that I understood, then he nodded and disappeared.   
I was back in the other Diagon Alley with the Weasley’s, they looked distraught – tears rimming their eyes. I was twenty feet away from where they stood over my body; if I didn’t know better, I would think I was asleep. Fred had made himself visible, his weightless body looked heavy with grief and he shook with tear-less sobs. It was heartbreaking.  
“Hey Ghostie,” I called. He slowly lifted his head from my body to me. I winked at him. He floated over to me at once, his family hung back to deal with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.   
I wrapped my arms tightly around Fred’s neck, “I thought I’d lost you,” he said weakly.  
“Nope, you’re stuck with me forever now,” I smiled at him reassuringly.  
“But how…” he started to ask, but then he changed his mind, “you know what, I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here.” He smiled broadly back at me and pulled me flush against his silvery chest. “I love you,” he said.  
“I love you, too.”


	13. Epilogue

After my death, my body had to be sent back to America for a funeral. The authorities told my family that I did not survive due to complications of pneumonia. The supremacist who murdered me was sentenced to a life in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet however, did not tell the wizarding community that I perished from pneumonia, their story told of me being brutally murdered by a supremacist and questioned it being a sure sign that another war would come.  
“Oh dear, I am so sorry for what happened to you,” Mrs. Weasley said sincerely the morning after we returned to The Burrow  
“It’s alright ma’am, we’ve all got to go sometime. At least I got to eat something you cooked before it happened,” I told her, smiling. She looked at me perplexed. “In the books, you were always described as an amazing cook and I’ve always wanted to eat something you’d made. And let me tell you, you did not disappoint.”   
Just then Fred wrapped his arms around my transparent waist and leaned down to rest his chin on my shoulder. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” his said slyly.  
“What is it?” I raised an eyebrow at him.  
“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”  
“Oh, you’re not trying to ruin a surprise now, are you?” George asked walking into the kitchen.  
“Speaking of surprises! George, I had no idea you were coming by,” Mrs. Weasley cried. “Let me make some tea.”  
“I’ll never say no to tea,” George grinned.  
He was up to something but before I could figure out what it was Fred announced that we would be late if we didn’t get going. “See you later,” he said to his family and then to me, “hold my hand.” I laced my fingers through his and with a slight pop we were out of the kitchen and in a snowy village. I looked around at the thatched roofs and tall chimneys, it looked like a Christmas card. Hogsmeade. Fred had brought me to Hogsmeade. I turned around and saw The Three Broomsticks and I knew I was right. I looked from the pub to Fred who was grinning madly at me, “Well, what do you think?”  
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, “this was an excellent surprise.”  
“Oh this isn’t even the surprise. Come on, I want you to meet a friend of mine.” I followed him into The Three Broomsticks and there, sitting at the bar, was none other than Neville Longbottom.  
Neville saw us and stood up smiling, “Alright Fred?”  
“Alright.” He turned to me, “This is –“  
“Neville Fucking Longbottom. I know. It’s so nice to meet you,” I interrupted.  
Neville raised his eyebrows in approval, “Likewise. This one is a keeper, Fred.”  
“I know she is,” Fred grinned as he slid his arm around me.  
“We had better get going, don’t want to be late,” Neville commented.  
“Of course, after you,” Fred replied and we followed him back into the snow and down a path, making our way out of the village, past Hogsmeade Station… Holy shit, were we going where I thought we were going? We rounded a corner and there it was, Hogwarts Castle, beckoning me closer with its stone towers and turrets. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen in awe. My ghostie stopped next to me and whispered in my ear, “It’s better up close, come on poppet.” Entwining his fingers with mine, he pulled me up the hill.  
When we got into the castle I was transfixed by the grand marble staircases and Neville told Fred, “We should go see the Fat Lady first, I’ve got to take care of everyone coming…”  
“We’re going to see the Fat Lady?” I nearly shrieked.  
Neville wasn’t fazed, “And Gryffindor tower, I hear that’s your house after all.”  
“What? Gryffindor Tower? Really? How?” I asked as we ascended the stairs.  
“I’m Head of Gryffindor House now.”  
“Of course you are, Neville. Good for you,” I beamed.   
“Thanks,” he beamed back.  
Finally we came to stop at the Fat Lady’s portrait, she seemed to be napping, a glass of wine, nearly empty, drooping lazily in her hand. Neville cleared his throat and she started. She squealed when she saw us, “What are you doing here?”  
“We’re trying to get in Fat Lady,” Fred piped.  
“You’ll need a password.”  
“It’s gillyweed,” said Neville.   
“Oh, alright,” she huffed and with that she swung open revealing the portrait hole through which Gryffindor’s common room was located. We made our way inside and I began walking around the room touching everything I saw; I was like a kid in a toy store. Neville and Fred stayed out of my way, just watching me spaz out all over the common room. At last I came to a stop in the center of the room, between two squishy looking red armchairs, “This. Is. Amazing. I can’t believe you guys got to live and go to school here, that’s totally not fair. I had to die to be able to come, what kind of shit is that?”   
Fred and Neville shook with laughter and Neville said, “I can see you’re enjoying yourself. It was really great to meet you; I’ve got to go take care of everyone, but I’ll see you later.”  
“Brilliant,” I said. And with that Neville disappeared through the portrait hole.  
“Is it what you imagined?” Fred inquired hopefully.  
“No,” I said, “it’s better. This is so incredible – it’s literally the best thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you so much.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest; his arms pulled me closer. It was amazing that neither of us had to concentrate to touch one another anymore, it was completely natural.  
“Would you like to see the rest of the castle?”  
I didn’t say anything, I just grinned up at him; he knew what that meant and we made our way out of the Gryffindor common room and through the many corridors of the school. At last we came to the library, it smelled exactly as my house had and it was filled with thousands and thousands of books. It was beautiful. Something on one of the tables caught my eye: a bouquet of forget-me-not and lily of the valley tied together with a golden ribbon. “Fred, what’s that?”  
“That,” he said, “is the biggest surprise yet.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Listen, I love you, more than I have ever loved anything else and I want to spend literal eternity with you. I’d like to do something to make it official. And I know that a… a wedding is an unconventional thing for us to do, but what part of what we’ve done is conventional? Basically… I’m wondering if – I’d like very much for you to marry me. Will you?”  
“Of course, Ghostie. Yes, of course I will.”  
Fred smiled so wide I thought he would split his face in half, “Brilliant!”  
“When are we doing this?” I asked grinning widely back at him.  
“Today, right now actually. You haven’t seen the Great Hall yet, come on.”  
I grabbed the flowers and followed him to Great Hall. The giant Christmas trees were still standing in the Hall and they were beautiful, lit with candles and decorated with gold baubles. The ceiling was glowing with light of the dusk sky and snow had begun to fall, but it stopped before reaching the floor. All of the Weasley’s were waiting for us along with Neville and Hannah, and the students who stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday. Fred and I made our way to the front of the room and Peeves let out a whoop from the corner, then saluted Fred. We were married by Sir Nicholas, and he was absolutely ecstatic to be presiding over the ceremony.  
After the wedding Fred and I mostly stayed at The Burrow, keeping to the attic at night, so as not to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. We visited the other Weasley’s often; we visited George almost every day. Fred and I also went to Hogwarts at least once a month, we liked to prank the students, check in on our nieces and nephews, and visit Neville. There was another ghost at the castle, Nigel, he died in the Battle of Hogwarts at just 13 – we spent a lot of time with him, he was too young to get on with the other ghosts in the castle. Fred and I hated leaving him there alone, until one day we didn’t. We decided to be a tad more unconventional and we adopted Nigel. Mrs. Weasley was pleased to gain another grandson. And Fred and I were pleased to have our own family. We were the happiest we had ever been in our lives, despite the fact that our lives had technically ended. All was well.


End file.
